


Passive Aggressive

by NemKess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, written pre-OotP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NemKess/pseuds/NemKess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the War is over, Draco struggles with the boredom of victory.  (edit: I feel like I should make it clear that this was written well before Order of the Phoenix came out and that the 'victory' is Voldemort's)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passive Aggressive

**Author's Note:**

> Brought over from FF.net with a little editing. This was written before Order of the Phoenix came out, so there's some obvious departure from canon beyond just the D/H slash.
> 
>  **Potential Trigger Warmings** : mentions of rape, violence, torture, slavery, and mental conditioning. Though most of that is only talked about rather than graphically shown, anyone who might be triggered by graphic Stockholm Syndrome symptoms shouldn't read any further.

_Two bedraggled figures met on the road under the cover of a cloudy sky. After exchanging safe words- you just couldn't be too careful these days- they gave a furtive glance around before vanishing into the forest._

_They traveled well beyond earshot of the road before settling down against an old oak. One offered whiskey, the other a bit of stale biscuit. The war made both commodities scarce- especially if you were on the losing side._

_There was a general exchange of information, news and whatnot, before they finally got down to what they'd really come together for._

_"I don't like this plan. Surely we can come up with something better, something... safer."_

_"Don't reckon it matters if we like it or not. You know what he's like when he's set his mind. A thousand blood-thirsty dragons couldn't change it. We just have to trust that he knows what he's about. If he succeeds, he could free the entire wizarding world from those bastards, once and for all._

_"But this is an all or nothing sort of plan. If anything goes wrong, he could... He could die..."_

_The pair were silent for a long moment, each contemplating that. So many had been lost to the cause already, it didn't seem fair to lose this one. This one especially who was so important, not only to them but to the world in general. If this plan failed and he was lost, they would all be lost. It wasn't something either of them really wanted to think about, but there it was._

_"Don't think like that," The taller of the pair pulled the other one close for a quick hug. "It'll be fine. We just have to trust him. He's never let us down before, he won't now."_

_The smaller sniffled a bit, but managed to offer a watery smile. "Of course. I believe in him."_

_And in the end, that was really all they could do. Suicide plan or not, it was the only thing anyone had come up with since they'd lost the wisdom of their old leader. Now the one who'd been thrust into his place was going to risk everything he was for one last bid for freedom._

_"Oh, before I forget, if we don't hear directly from him in a fortnight, we're to go into hiding. All the rebels. No matter what we hear about his fate. We're absolutely not to take matters into our own hands or avenge him. Not even a rescue attempt if he ends up captured. Insistent on it, he was. Those who can blend back in are to try and live their lives while the rest of us who are too high profile are to hole up somewhere."_

_"Until when?"_

_"Until he calls us back.”_

~*~*~

The blonde sighed and ran one hand through his hair as he walked down the corridor, barely aware of his silent shadow. The wizarding world had grown so.. so.. _boring_ lately.

He never thought he'd be missing the 'good old days' of war and treachery, but miss it he did.

Draco Malfoy had never really thought beyond being on the winning side back when he'd thrown his lot in with his father and Voldemort. All that had mattered to his young reckless mind had been that they overthrow the Light and take their proper place above other wizards. The purging of Mudbloods had been a fun game and the battles with the Order had been an invigorating challenge.

He'd never stopped to consider what would come after.

There was no one to spy on, no one to challenge him, no one to test his wits or skill upon.

The day he'd foiled Harry Potter's last grand scheme and brought his rival before the Dark Lord, he'd secured his ties to the Death Eaters and ensured that his was the second most powerful position in the hierarchy. 

Even his own father had to defer to him.

He was the Man who'd captured The Boy Who Lived. He had single-handedly wiped out what little resistance and hope the Light had held onto there at the end.

He'd been ecstatic, sure that his life's goals had finally been met.

He hadn't realized that in meeting those goals, he'd left himself with nothing to replace them with.

There was nothing to do but idle his time away. Voldemort ran the wizarding world with an iron fist and a singular attention for detail that left little for his second in command to do. Torturing those of lower rank than himself had lost it's appeal years ago. There weren't too many Mudbloods running around to kill anymore and muggle torture was about as entertaining as stomping roaches.

Truly, if it hadn't been for his reward from the final defeat he'd have gone mad by now.

The thought made him smile. He gazed back at the small form following him so closely. Amused silver met bland green. "Whatever would I do without you, Harry?"

Potter didn't respond, but then, Draco hadn't really expected him to. It had been years since his capture and the subsequent torture that had taken the other man's voice.

He didn't know everything that had been done to Harry, but he'd heard the screams. It had annoyed him quite severely to know that someone else was torturing his prize, but the Dark Lord had assured him that they were merely training him to be a proper pet.

When his rival had been released back into his custody, he'd been a changed man. 

Although, calling what Harry had become a 'man' might be reaching a little, Draco had to concede. He sighed and ruffled the shaggy black hair. It was a bit like having a particularly slow dog, he mused.

Well, perhaps not, he thought as he dropped a small kiss on the pert nose. He'd used Harry for any number of things over the years that he would not have even considered with a dog. He had more discerning tastes than most of his fellow Death Eaters after all.

"Are you hungry, Harry? I think I'd like a spot of tea and some crumpets." Not bothering to wait for a response he knew wouldn't come, Draco continued on his way to his private rooms. There he summoned a house elf and settled himself in one of the plush armchairs near the fireplace. "Tea and crumpets for two."

The house elf bowed low and cast a sad glance over at the silent Potter before disappearing with a flash of displaced air.

Not long afterwards, it returned with it's burden and placed it on the small table nearby. Potter waved away it's first attempt to serve and with another bow it was gone.

It had bothered Draco for a long time, this insistence Potter had for doing the serving when they shared a meal or tea, but in the end he'd taken back his protest of it. It was the only thing Harry ever took initiative in anymore. And while Draco would never admit it, it was just about the only thing that reminded him that his pet was indeed Harry Potter and not simply a lifeless doll.

Besides the sex of course. Though more often than not, Harry simply obeyed and stared back as blandly as usual, every now and then there'd be an actual response. Especially after those occasions when Voldemort insisted Potter be the 'entertainment' at a meeting or ceremony. For the first few days afterwards, he was always especially careful and gentle with his traumatized pet. Harry's eyes would take on an almost wistful look on those occasions and he almost seemed to participate and desire their interludes.

Draco hated sharing his things, especially when those who borrowed them returned them in less than pristine condition, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he could say no to the Dark Lord. Second in Command or not, Voldemort was still his master and Draco had come to suspect the use of his pet had become the wizard's favorite demonstration of that fact.

He'd love to be able to tell the old bastard where to shove it one day.

Harry finished pouring Draco's tea and knelt beside the chair, offering up a crumpet.

"Thank you, Harry." He ate the offered food slowly and neatly. Manners were important, even when one had no audience to impress. When he was done, he smoothed the dark hair back and sighed. "You should eat something too. You're too thin."

There was no response aside from the blank green stare he'd come to expect. He reached over and took another crumpet, tearing a piece off and holding it up to Harry's lips. It was always like this after Voldemort had ahold of him for a few days.

It would take at least a week to get him to eat on his own again.

One day, Draco imagined, Harry would just give up and die. The thought brought him no happiness.

What had started out as a mean-spirited game to torment his former rival had become something else entirely somewhere along the way. He'd come to care for his pet in ways he knew that he shouldn't have. Draco honestly didn't know what he'd do if lost Harry.

Even if his feelings hadn’t developed into something deeper, the boredom of the wizarding world would do him in before anything else without the diversion of Harry's presence.

"I do miss your fire, though,” he mused aloud when Harry turned his face away from the last offered bite and instead curled against Draco's leg. "You never had the greatest wit, but occasionally you were truly amusing. And competing with you gave my life more purpose than I’d imagined.”

Small hands curled loosely around his ankle and Draco played with the raven hair as he gazed down at the other man's figure. Potter had never really grown up, he mused. Oh, his mind had been old long before it's time but his body had never hit a final growth spurt. Malnutrition, he'd always assumed. It made him look more like a child than a grown man.

A beautiful child that made Draco do things completely out of character. Things like fall in love with a pet doll.

He leaned down and nuzzled Harry's hair. "Let's go to bed, shall we?"

~*~*~

"Bloody bastard! Who the hell does he think he is!?" Draco ignored the quietly offered "Our master?" from his father and continued storming down the dark hallway. The pair trailing along behind him- or pulled along, in Potter's case- were barely acknowledged as he ranted. "It's one thing to borrow my pet for his sick games. I am a Malfoy! I am not a performing monkey!"

"We are all subject to the Dark Lord's whims, Draco." The older man trailed off with a sigh when it was obvious that his son was not listening. The younger blonde's annoyed voice simply rose an octave higher.

"He's a bloody sick wanker, that's what he is..."

Lucius sensed that the raving was about to go off onto a tangent that was going to get them all into a great deal of trouble if something wasn't done to divert his son's attention. The heavy emphasis on serpents used in the castle's decor wasn't just for show, after all. The wall's might not have ears, but all those parsletongue's were the next best thing.

There'd certainly been a lion's share of resentment and petty in-fighting between them over the years since Lucius had been replaced as Voldemort's second by his own son, but they were still family and at least the Malfoy's were still the most prominent pureblooded family in the wizarding world. He couldn't allow the young man tendency of venting his spleen regardless of possible ease droppers run rampant.

At least there was one sure way to distract Draco. "I rather think Nott will ask to be in my place the next time our Lord chooses to amuse himself this way."

For a short moment, Lucius thought he saw faint surprise in Potter's eyes before the words brought the younger blonde to a sudden halt. He whirled around and glared at the sticky raven hair of his favorite toy.

"Bloody Nott," Draco ground out, his fury successfully manipulated. Nott had been trying to get Voldemort to switch Potter's ownership almost from the moment the prize had been offered to Draco. Reaching out, he grabbed the shorter man by the hair and jerked him close to plant a punishing kiss on already bruised lips. "You're mine. I'll kill you myself before I let that bastard take you away from me."

His lips curled in a snarl as he tasted other men on his pet.

It re-ignited his anger at the one who'd ordered the 'playtime', but more than anything else he was consumed by the need to scrub Harry clean, to remove all traces of anyone else off what was his.

Just as Lucius had intended.

Not that having achieved his desired results kept him from pointing out the inherent dangers in Draco's thinking. "Draco, you're getting far too attached to him and you know it. Your possessiveness of Potter will be used against you one day."

Draco merely glared at his father before grabbing Potter's arm and dragging him off to the baths.

The elder Malfoy sighed and followed along at a more dignified and leisurely pace.

~*~*~

_The moon was high and bright, reflecting off the two figures silhouetted in the open window of the luxurious second's suite on the top floor of the castle. One, more than twice as tall as the other, leaned casually against the window pane, a rare moment of pure relaxation and near-contentment giving him a peaceful look that few would have recognized. The second shifted nervously at his side, wringing snarled hands and radiating more than enough tension to make up for his companion's lack._

_There was no apparent difference in this night or any other that had come before it. Indeed, this particular pair had stood similarly more nights than not in the several years they'd been in their current situation._

_There was nothing that had marked the day to be any different either. Harsh and unwelcome as certain of the day's activities had been, they weren't unheard of. Uncommon, thankfully, but still frequent enough to blend in with the seams of their lives._

_Days and nights, weeks and months... Anything like real time had long since ceased to have meaning for them. One day bled into the next in a seemingly unending stream of surreal time that had become almost comforting._

_Despite that comforting sameness, something was different. Something neither of them could really define, only accept as truth._

_"It is time, Sir?"_

_A serene nod was the only response to the tense question, but it was more than enough. A burst of relief seemed to take all the strength out of the asker._

_It was finally time._

_The taller of the pair was unclothed but for a small dressing gown which he slid off without thought or embarrassment. If nothing else came of the years he'd spent waiting for this night, at least he'd long since shed any shame over his body.  
 There was no one but his most loyal friend to see anyways._

_Indeed, the smaller being's large elf eyes never strayed beyond the bared arm he'd moved to. He wrapped his own tiny hands around the thin arm and concentrated as best he could._

_He knew, after all, that there was only one chance to do this and if he botched it up, well... There was no suitable punishment in existence that he could give himself. Everything they'd lost or given up to get this far would be in vain. He refused to let all his companion's sacrifice be for nothing._

_A tiny spark emitted from his palms as the elf slowly released the spells he'd placed so very long ago._

_For a brief moment the flare of the unlocked magical power threatened to escape them both and all that nervous tension came flooding back._

_Fortunately, control and patience were things that the wizard had an abundance of._

_The elf let go of the wizard's arm and merely watched as the potential disaster was averted easily. His friend even offered a crooked smile of reassurance. The rarity of that smile was worth more than all the praise in the world and the elf offered a small one of his own back._

_The moment was lost as a faint golden glow began to pulse in the crook of the wizard’s arm and an answering one sputtered to life on the elf's._

_Across the country side dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of other tiny glows pulsed on other arms as their leader called them back to his side once more. It lasted only long enough to make sure that everyone understood before fading away again._

_Hope sputtered back to life with that call and it spread._

 

~*~*~*~

It took Tom Marvolo Riddle a lifetime to enslave the wizarding world.

It took Harry James Potter less than ten minutes to free it.

The day was as dark and dreary as all the days that had come before it during Voldemort's reign. It wasn't an old holiday, when the magic of the natural world was flowing particularly strong. It wasn't a day of any past emotional significance for the oppressed.

It was just a day.

Had she been alive, one Hermione Granger might have recalled that some centuries before, the fifty-sixth Goblin War had officially ended on that day, but no one else could have remember such an obscure detail and the muggle born witch had been lost in one of the initial purges before the war had even officially begun.

Draco Malfoy woke as he always did, warm and comfortable, wrapped around his small pet. He summoned a house elf and woke Harry. He ate lightly and was pleased when he managed to tempt his companion into eating a few bits. The pair bathed and dressed, Draco making one-sided small talk, before settling about yet another boring day in a string of boring days.

All around the castle, similar routines were going on as Voldemort and his follower's awoke.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate that this day had been chosen to be their last.

At noon, they all gathered in the Great Hall, intent on their lunch and Voldemort's favorite piece of entertainment, one Harry Potter. It pleased the evil tyrant greatly to have his most annoyingly lucky enemy brought so low, to have the whelp so beaten and defenseless before them all.

He had forgotten - arrogant in his victory as most evil tyrants tended to be - that Harry Potter had never been defenseless, not even as a tiny babe in his mother's arms. He had forgotten, after years of unprotested torture, that luck had only accounted for a small part of what had helped foil him for years. He had forgotten that Harry Potter had always been one of his strongest opponents.

He'd forgotten that the greatest danger to any ruler is the one that he allows to walk through his door.

Seven years of apparently mindless obedience and resigned acceptance had lulled them all into easy complacency - just as it had been intended to.

Who could have imagined that Harry Potter could display such patience, such cunning? Who could have imagined that the former pride of Gryffindor could have been so very Slytherin?

Years later, if pressed, surviving witnesses wouldn’t be able to recall the exact details of the short battle. It was over almost before it even started, Voldemort's men realizing far too late exactly what was happening. Voldemort himself was dead before it even registered that he was under attack.

His most prized trophy, a wand of holly and phoenix feather, had been kept prominently displayed for seven years to serve as a warning for those who would dare to imagine that they had any hope of defeating him. If the Boy Who Lived could not succeed, who could?

But the wand had never belonged to Voldemort. It had only been waiting patiently for it's master to reclaim it; and reclaim it he did.

There was no grandstanding, no vengeful verbal exchanges. There was only death and chaos. The great hall glowed blindingly for a moment, as if the world were awash in long forgotten sunlight, and when it cleared and all could see, Voldemort and half of his followers were dead.

The rebels, called back to their leader's side, wasted little time in dealing with the stunned stragglers. They showed no mercy. Before the enemy had completely processed what had happened, they were dead.

All but one.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Move out of the way!"

But nothing could move the small man from his protective position between the man who was his captor and the man who'd once been his best friend.

"Weasley, perhaps you should-"

"No! That sodding son of a death eater killed Ginny and tortured Harry for years. Now it's bloody well time that he got a taste of his own medicine."

"Potter seems to disagree."

"He's stark raving nutters then!"

"Be that as it may-"

The argument could have gone on forever if not for the timely interruption by the small house elf. He popped into existence next to his beloved master, the only master he'd ever willingly accepted. When he spoke, he was awash in the same golden glow as Harry. "Ginny's death is on my head and no other."

Shocked silence spread out from the group. A house elf referring to itself in the first person? Unheard of.

It was Snape who understood and recovered first. "Granger would be ashamed of such ruthless use of a house elf, Potter."

"Hermione is dead. And Dobby speaks for me of his own free will."

"What do you mean!" Ron demanded. "Ginny came here to rescue you and died at this wanker's hand. That's not your fault, Harry."

Though Potter's face remained expressionless, Dobby's matched the sad tone of his voice. "She should have followed orders. Had she trusted my judgement, she would not have died." Both human and elf shook their heads in sync. "So much had already been lost. It was our last chance. I couldn't let the sacrifices be in vain."

Horrible suspicion began to shadow Ron's face, but it was Draco, finally managing to rise back to his knees who actually spoke. "That's why... We always thought the Weaslette was too easy to find... I just wrote it off on Gryffindor stupidity..."

For a long minute, stricken blue clashed with blank green.

It was Dobby, again, who put an end to it. The golden glow had faded and he'd moved lay his head against his master's leg. "HarryPotter suffered so and Dobby could only watch." The elf shook his head sadly, tears making his big eyes glassy. When he gazed at Draco, there was both dislike and gratitude in his eyes. "Only young master Malfoy made things bearable for HarryPotter, when Dobby could do nothing."

There was nothing anyone could say to that.

~*~*~

_As he swooped through the hallways of his once grand home, Draco Malfoy cackled gleefully at the frightened faces of wizards and witches who scurried to get out of his way. It was perhaps a petty thing to delight in, but one had to take the small pleasures in life where one could find them. And when one's home had been converted into a dark museum and was invaded daily by the curious and the cautious... His chosen method of entertainment was harmless compared to the alternatives he'd considered. And sometimes his wickedness had an unwitting kindness to it as he frightened the visitors away from the multitude of death traps that the aurors - most of them too green and untried to be as effective as they liked to imagine - had never fully disarmed._

_Outside Malfoy Manor, life, as always, continued on._

_Freed of Voldemort's tyranny, both Wizards and Muggles faced an uphill struggle to rebuild. But they were free men and women who had hope and determination. And rebuild they did, in a most spectacular fashion._

_New wizarding cities rose from the ashes of the old._

_Populations decimated by Voldemort's purges, wizards and muggles learned to live together._

_Such concerns were peripheral for the inhabitants of the once majestic manor turned museum, however._

_Draco in particular thought the entire world could go hang itself and said so as loudly as he could as frequently as he could._

_In the quiet solarium, far away from those who invaded their sanctuary, Harry Potter spent his days curled up in a soft wicker chair, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine that had been so absent through the dark years of captivity. He waited there, seldom venturing out, until Draco returned from his fun._

_Dobby brought tea and crumpets, which Harry always served in familiar silence. Once the tea was poured and crumpets offered, he curled into his familiar position at Draco's feet, his dark head resting lightly against Draco's knee._

_Despite the second chair that had been brought in for his comfort, Harry showed no signs of wishing to change the arrangement. Draco could understand the need for something stable in a world that was whirling on past them faster than either could keep up._

_"You're still too thin," Draco complained. It seemed no matter how he tried, he simply couldn't keep proper weight on Harry's bones._

_There was no verbal response. Harry simply pressed closer, two small hands curling loosely around Draco's ankle._

_With a sigh, Draco leaned his head back and enjoyed the sunlight that warmed them both._

The End


End file.
